


conviolo

by scriveyner (trismegistus)



Series: Voltron Fic Collection [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bondage, Gift Fic, Keith abuse, M/M, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trismegistus/pseuds/scriveyner
Summary: "Do you know why I've brought you here, paladin?""To kill me."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vythefirst](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=vythefirst).



The only reason the guards were able to get the restraints on him in the first place was because they finally caught him sleeping. Even mostly asleep Keith still came up fighting, and managed to headbutt one of the guards hard enough that the guard staggered back and sat down hard on the floor of the small cell. The Galra was wearing a helmet, which was fortunate for him but not so much for Keith because it ended up stunning Keith more, and the action gave another guard the opening to slam the heavy collar shut around his neck.

Keith tried to lunge at the second guard, but the third activated the restraints before he could do any damage; both his arms were yanked back, the bands around his wrists snapping together as if magnetized. The collar too was affected by this activation, and Keith's head tilted back slightly, keeping his chin aloft lest he strangle himself against the thick electronic device.

"Is it secure?" the first guard, the one who Keith had headbutted, had regained his feet. Keith leaned forward and the collar pressed against his windpipe. He could feel the trickle of what had to be blood on his temple. The guard, wisely, kept his distance.

"Yeah," the guard with the control said. "I don't see why Lord Zarkon even wants to handle this, we could just dump it in the ring like we did the others." The second guard, who had collared him, grabbed Keith by the upper arm and hauled him off the bench easily. Keith came up kicking. "I would make my credits back on a fighter like this."

It had been three days. Keith had kept track as best as he was able; fending off the guards whenever they came for him. Sleep had to take him eventually, and when it had they struck; restraining him like they had the others in the cell block. Keith hadn't seen Shiro since they had been taken; and now Zarkon's name brought a new desperation. The second guard mostly absorbed his kicks; he was effectively barefoot after all, his paladin armor confiscated and leaving him in nothing but the skintight black bodysuit.

"Can I get some help, here?" the second guard asked plaintively, and the first one snorted and continued to give Keith a wide berth, leaving the third to tuck away the restraint's controls and take Keith by the upper arm.

They didn't even bother to drag him, carrying him so that his kicks had nothing to get purchase on. Keith snarled in frustration but finally went limp, because there was really no use wasting what little energy he had left on this. Finding Shiro was more important.

They went up a more ornate corridor that Keith had never seen. He'd been in his fair share of Galra ships in the past, but usually the lower decks and on one memorable occasion, the bridge itself – but this looked like personal quarters. Not an interrogation room, like he anticipated. His confusion gave the guards enough leeway to both announce themselves and open the door to the quarters, flinging Keith through like a piece of meat before a predator. Keith let out a surprised yelp and managed to land on his feet, stumbling and half-turning, arms still restrained behind him, and made for the doors.

The heavy doors closed before Keith got there, and he ran into them shoulder first, hard enough to stun himself for the second time in as many minutes. He shook his head and pushed off with his shoulder, intent on running himself into them again when a low, ominous rumble made him pause.

He had to turn around completely, with the collar locked to the wrist restraints it made twisting his head to look that much more difficult. The room was larger than he'd expected; dimly lit with magenta running lights near the floor. The rumble occurred again, and Keith realized suddenly it was a low sound of amusement.

"The Red Paladin," came from the far end of the room, and Keith oriented himself in that direction, keeping his back to the door. "Welcome, fledgling."

As the words were spoken, the entire length of the far wall went transparent; illuminating the room with the expanse of stars beyond it. Keith squinted against the influx of light, somewhat dazzled, but was able to make out the large chair that was set back against the now-transparent wall. These weren't only personal quarters, but they doubled as a throne room.

_Zarkon._

And he sat in his great chair, now that Keith could see him properly. The Galran leader was still clad in his full armor, one elbow on the armrest of his throne. From across the room Keith could hear the soft metal ping as Zarkon tapped his armored hands against the curve of the heavy helmet on his head.

He was alone, in a room, with the leader of the Galran Empire.

_If only he had his bayard._

Chest heaving, Keith didn't move from where he stood. "What do you want with me?" he said, and changed his line of inquiry almost instantly. "Where's Shiro? What have you done with him, why wasn't he with the other prisoners?"

Zarkon was watching him carefully from across the room. His eyes glowed in the semi-darkness; with his back to the starfield all Keith could really gather was the size of him; the shine of reflected starlight on his armor only told Keith of his breadth. The anger in his chest really outweighed the bitter taste of fear in him, and Keith took a step forward, then another. His bare feet were silent on the cool tile floor, and Keith stopped finally, a few good paces shy of the throne. "Where's Shiro?" he asked again, chin tilted up defiantly, his voice strong and steady.

"His whereabouts are none of your concern," Zarkon said, using both armrests now, looking down at Keith with a straight back and a faint expression of disdain. "Do you know why I've brought you here, paladin?"

"To kill me." No hesitation in Keith's voice at all, he didn't look away from the Galra leader.

"Perhaps." Zarkon did not move, his hands curled at the ends of the armrests. He didn't look real; if Keith had not seen him move before he would think the Galra a statue, or a holographic projection. "It would be a mistake to allow you into the ring; you are a fierce opponent. The other prisoners would make you their hero, like your precious Champion." Zarkon turned his head slightly, his attention drawn away from Keith. "I won't allow that to happen again."

Keith was still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "What do you intend to do with me?" he said. "I won't talk."

He was surprised by the laugh that erupted from Zarkon. "I hold two of Voltron's paladins. Your remaining friends are no threat to me as long as I have you." Keith didn't think that rigid face capable of a smirk but it existed in his voice. "And your lions."

Zarkon ran his hand over the edge of the armrest, until his fingers caught on a chain, pulled taut. He slipped his fingers around it and pulled it firmly. "No, Red Paladin, I intend to break you. Like your champion."

Keith's eyes went to the chain; it seemed absurdly low-tech, given the fact his restraints were magnetic in nature. But the tautness vanished as a dark form shuffled around from behind the throne, moving in a slow crouch. Keith's eyes went wide as Shiro dropped to his knees beside the foot of Zarkon's throne, his head bowed and the chain attached to what looked like a simple metal collar around his neck. He wore a muzzle that changed the shape of his face; it covered the lower half of his jaw and protruded out much like a dog's snout.

He didn't look up, not even when Keith said, " _Shiro_ ," in a strangled voice. He didn't even seem to register Keith's presence, his eyes downcast. Keith took another step forward despite himself, and stopped, struggling against his restraints. "What did you _do_ ," he snarled, "what have you _done_ to him-"

Zarkon tugged on the chain sharply and wordlessly Shiro rose to his feet. He was – Keith felt the heat flush to his cheeks but didn't look away – Shiro was completely naked, save the collar and the muzzle. The scars that Keith recognized told him that this was without a doubt Shiro, _his_ Shiro, the one who had grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him down before the Galra soldiers were upon them, who had shouted to him to keep fighting, to hang on....

"Shiro," Keith said, his voice broken.

"He is a wonderful specimen," Zarkon said, and leaned forward. Shiro neither shrunk away nor flinched from the heavy hand that cupped his jaw, tilting his head back toward Zarkon on his throne. "My druids want him back, but I think I'll keep him for now. He entertains me."

Keith's jaw tightened as Zarkon sat back. He wrapped his hand in the chain and tugged it lightly. "Attend me," he instructed. Keith watched in growing horror as Shiro turned and leaned forward a bit, bracing one hand on the armrest of Zarkon's throne. He spread his legs, slowly, and Keith could see the dark-colored plug protruding. Keith's knees felt weak.

Shiro's hand skated down his own side and back, catching the plug between two fingers. He let out no noise as he tugged at it – and after a long, agonizing second it started to come free. It was large, larger than even Keith expected, and Shiro let the flared end dangle from his fingers for a second before dropping it to the floor.

His hole was stretched wide by this action, gaping open. Keith's eyes went to Shiro's face but Shiro still was not looking back at him, the loose curl of his white forelock covering most of his eyes. By the angle of his face he was looking to Zarkon, and then he leaned forward over the throne and Keith could no longer see exactly what it was that he was doing.

He had a good idea, though.

It was unreal to watch, Shiro silent and diligent, unbuckling the bits of armor that stood in the way of his work. By the time Shiro swung himself up onto Zarkon's lap Keith really couldn't stand upright any longer and had dropped to his knees on the cool tile floor, the restraint collar keeping his head up, unable to look away. The Galran's cock was larger than he'd expected; thick and ridged like the skin of his face. Shiro pressed his palm to the top of it, pushing it down as he settled over Zarkon, angling it correctly.

This wasn't happening. Now for the first time he could see Shiro's face, his expression as he sat himself slowly on Zarkon's cock. There was hardly anything there that he recognized; Shiro's face had gone all but blank, but there was a moment as the large, knobby head of Zarkon's cock pressed inside that his features twitched, almost as if in pain.

It was too big for him. Keith knew that logically, but Shiro didn't _stop._ He sank down over each ridge on Zarkon's cock, one after another, until Keith could actually see Shiro's belly bulge out with the size of it. Shiro let out a low groan as the last bit of Zarkon's purple cock vanished inside him, its girth now greater than the plug that lay forgotten on the floor.

Zarkon sat reclined back in the throne, not actually touching Shiro, his elbow on the arm rest and head resting in his hand. He was not watching Shiro, but Keith. "Paladins can be broken," Zarkon rumbled, and shifted his weight forward. Shiro gasped loudly, pained, as that shifted the cock inside him, and he tried to shift with it but Zarkon's other hand shot out and gripped Shiro's neck from behind. He went absolutely still, mouth open behind the muzzle, eyes rolled back.

"Stop," Keith said in a strangled voice.

The claw-tipped fingers closed tighter around Shiro's neck, and Zarkon lifted him slowly off his cock, each ridge making a squelching noise as it slipped out, until just the head remained. Then, violently, Zarkon shoved his entire cock in, bowing out Shiro's belly with the motion. Shiro let out a choked moan and Keith closed his eyes and screamed, _"stop it!"_

He couldn't take the expression on Shiro's face any longer, somewhere between pained and wanton and it was physically hurting _Keith_ to see him like that. "Stop hurting him," Keith said, his eyes still squeezed shut, unable to cover his ears, still able to hear Shiro's breathy pants and the strange squish of bodies together.

"Hm," Zarkon rumbled, that same amused sound from before. There was a click and that made Keith open his eyes, to see Zarkon unlocking the muzzle, letting it fall away from Shiro's face. It hit the floor beside the throne. "Tell him what you desire, Champion."

"More," Shiro's voice was ragged and strangled, barely above a whisper. His expression was glazed and distant; he didn't even seem to register Keith's presence, staring off into something only he could see, his hands braced on his own spread thighs. After a moment of this, where Shiro rocked a little on Zarkon's lap, moving that gross bulge in his belly, he started to get up off of Zarkon's cock, intending to thrust it all the way back in. "Stop," Zarkon said, and Shiro ceased moving immediately.

There were tears in Keith's eyes, he blinked them away furiously. "Let him _go_ ," he said, well aware of the helplessness of the situation, of the hopelessness. "Just, stop hurting him..."

Zarkon shifted again, shoving Shiro back down onto his lap. Shiro let out a noise that sounded more pleasure than pain, and then Zarkon unclasped the lead from the front of the collar. "Ride me," he ordered Shiro, and Shiro pulled himself off of Zarkon's dick eagerly before letting gravity do the work and spread him open again. Keith closed his eyes and turned his head and tried not to be absorbed by the sound o f it.

_This wasn't Shiro._

The wet, obscene noise of bodies sliding together forced Keith's eyes open again, and he kept his eyes trained on the floor as much as he could. Zarkon's girth made Shiro seem small by comparison – and logically, Keith knew that the Galran wasn't _that_ much larger than Shiro, but his presence, his armor, next to Shiro's nudity, it all made him seem much, much larger.

"Your fellow paladin seems distressed," Zarkon commented idly. That drew Keith's attention back to the throne, where Shiro was rocking forward on Zarkon's lap, busily grinding down. Zarkon put one large hand on Shiro's right shoulder and pushed down, and Shiro shuddered enthusiastically. "Perhaps you should comfort him."

The words did not quite register correctly, because Keith's attention was drawn once again to Shiro's movement. Shiro let out a low, disappointed groan – his own cock had grown engorged and was bouncing enthusiastically with his movements. However, Zarkon did not speak again, settled back in his seat, and after a moment Shiro pushed himself up.

It was agony, watching that cock slide out of him. Keith had watched it go in, but it seemed even larger now, shiny and slick with fluid. Shiro stood on wobbly legs, his prosthetic right hand drifting up toward the collar at his neck and touching it without thought, before glancing back over his shoulder at Zarkon. The Galran emperor gestured with one hand, and Shiro stepped down from the dais the throne sat upon.

Keith watched him like a hawk, looking for some measure of the man he knew was inside there somewhere. Shiro's eyes were blank, almost glazed; even looking right at Keith it was like he didn't see Keith at all. "Shiro," Keith said as Shiro stopped in front of him, looked down at him. "It's me, don't you recognize me?" _Your friend, your ...something-else, something we hadn't put words to yet, something that just_ was _..._

There was nothing behind those eyes. Shiro grabbed Keith by the shoulder and he let out a surprised huff as Shiro slammed him down, his back to the floor. Keith arched his back, his arms wrenched still behind him, and he twisted, intending to get his feet out from under him, to flail and kick.

Without a word of direction Shiro leaned over him, twisted his right hand in the fabric of Keith's flight suit, and yanked.

It shouldn't have torn – Keith remembered Allura discussing the fabric's properties, it was vacuum-resistant, for fuck's sake – but the strength of Shiro's false limb was more than the material could handle and it ripped in a jagged line down the front of his chest. Keith let out a yelp of surprise at the way he was being manhandled, he twisted again and was able to get in a shot at Shiro's legs out of sheer self-defense, even as Shiro kept tearing the fabric, right down his front until the tear reached the spot of heat between his legs.

This time his heel struck Shiro's inner thigh. It was the first true reaction Keith got, Shiro's eyes widening in pain and for a split-second, something familiar there. A flash of recognition. Keith didn't wait for anything more and rolled, up on his knees and to his feet in one smooth motion.

That was as far as he got. Shiro's prosthetic hand closed around the back of his neck, tight and punishing, and in a single move slammed Keith back down, this time on his belly. "Feisty," Zarkon murmured from his throne, somewhere behind them both.

Shiro ripped his paladin flight suit off, in pieces. Every time Keith struggled, his face met the floor, hard – Shiro wasn't going to let him get another shot in; not with how perilously close Keith's heel had come to his sack. "Shiro," Keith said to the floor, as if repeating Shiro's name over and over and over again would help _fix_ this, as if it would help bring him back from whatever depth he had fallen. "Shiro, listen to me, this isn't _you_ -"

All at once he was yanked back to his feet. Keith stumbled, Shiro's left hand squeezed tight around his upper arm as he dragged him forward, leaving scraps of black material behind. He was almost entirely naked now, the only place where Shiro hadn't bothered to strip the uniform from him was his arms. Keith flushed angrily as Shiro presented him to Zarkon, standing slightly behind Keith, hand still firm on his arm.

"Well," Zarkon said, and Keith's flush grew darker as their mortal enemy slowly looked him over, sizing him up like he was nothing more than meat. "Still very much a fledgling; not more than a child." He settled back on his throne, and for a moment Keith's eyes zeroed in on that enormous, purple ridged cock that was still laying exposed; slick and shiny and pulsing. When he dragged his eyes back up to Zarkon's face, Zarkon wasn't looking at him at all, instead staring at Shiro behind him. "Mark him, Champion."

Keith turned to Shiro, who stepped up beside him but still held his upper arm in a tight grip. "What is he talking about-" Keith started to ask, as Shiro laid his right palm across the upper part of Keith's chest, fingers on his shoulder. It all happened so fast that there was a delay in processing it, almost – his hand had been glowing when he pressed it to Keith's skin.

All at once, the pain hit.

He dropped to his knees, Shiro's grip on his arm gone. Keith screamed into the floor, arms still bound behind him, the inferno of Shiro's hand off his skin but the sizzle of broiled flesh still popping in his ears. He really couldn't think of anything but the pain, his voice gone out as he gasped heaving breaths, limbs shaking. He stared out the viewscreen behind Zarkon's throne, at the cold unfeeling light of the stars beyond, focusing on them.

Keith couldn't twist his head down to look at the branded flesh, his collar kept his chin aloft. He couldn't even see what it was that Shiro had _done_ to him. He let out a strangled sob as he felt Shiro's hand close around the back of his neck; and the parts of his hand that didn't touch the collar were cool; regular human flesh.

He couldn't be certain what it was that the Galran leader said then, so focused in on the fading pain of being branded Keith couldn't pay him attention. He struggled weakly against Shiro's grip and strangled cry escaped when that false hand touched the rough, raw, burnt skin. "Shiro," Keith sobbed, and tears tracked their way down his face. "Stop, _stop-_ "

This time he did hear Zarkon's voice, as Shiro's hand flattened over the back of his neck. "Take him," Zarkon rumbled. The words didn't seem to make any sense to Keith, breathing as raggedly as he was, but then Shiro's hand traced down his bare back, flattening between his shoulder blades. He braced for more pain, but the heat of the prosthetic did not arrive. He went limp when Shiro pushed him down, he led with his undamaged side; he simply didn't have the energy to stay up on his knees at such a strange angle.

Abruptly, there was a click, and his wrists were free. Without conscious though Keith braced his arms on the ground, keeping his shoulders from the floor and realized, _my hands are free._ Shiro had turned off the magnetic restraints.

Was he intending Keith to fight him off, to go for Zarkon with a weapon? _What weapon, he only had his hands?_ Keith curled his fingers against the floor, staring at his hands when he felt both of Shiro's hands on his sides, settling on his hips. Shiro was still touching him. He started to push himself up, the new breath of freedom taking most of the pain of the brand singed into his skin with it; but then he felt Shiro's hands dip lower, settling on his hips, and a heavy, warm, foreign weight resting atop the curve of his ass.

Keith stilled completely. There was a moment of disbelief, he _knew_ what that weight was, what that warmth meant; but didn't want to believe it, and he shifted a little, but Shiro's hands were firm and kept him in place.

Chest heaving still, now with more panic than not, Keith said, _"don't."_

If Shiro heard him he did not acknowledge that Keith had even spoken. "He'll bleed," he said, addressing Zarkon, his voice nearly unrecognizable.

"Good," Zarkon said.

Keith twisted. His hands were free and he could fight back, and as he got them under himself there was another click, and abruptly his wrists clacked together in front of him. He had been mid twist, and the restraints reactivating meant that he had no support under his upper body. His shoulder hit the ground hard, the branded one, and the noise that tore from his throat was inhuman. Stunned and off balance, he tried a flailing kick but Shiro caught his leg and yanked him in close.

"No," Keith said, as he felt the cool press of Shiro's fingers first, testing him. "Shiro, _no_ , don't do this, _don't_ , not like _this-_ " He was babbling now, because Shiro pushed his fingers in again and it _hurt_ , there wasn't enough lubrication. He knew what would follow those fingers, how much larger that would be, and he couldn't take it. "Don't," Keith said again, as Shiro dragged his fingers free. "Please, Shiro-"

Shiro ignored him.

It wasn't really fair to say that he had imagined what it would be like; Keith had only recently began to even put together those feelings. They'd been too busy, saving the universe was an unrelenting job, between actual missions and training and existing there were revelations late at night standing under the punishing spray of the showers, but he hadn't allowed himself the luxury yet to _imagine_... and yet. It wasn't supposed to be _this_.

It hurt even worse than he'd thought, Shiro was so _big_. It was a thought that should make him groan and squirm but instead he just choked out a sob, on his side and staring mindlessly at Zarkon's boots. He couldn't even fit his mouth around Shiro's name now, his voice wordless and strained.

"Too _tight_ ," Shiro growled, and stopped.

It was sweet relief, to feel that pressure ease. Keith let out another noise, a softer one as Shiro backed off. Some part of his brain said, now, _now_ , get up, do _something_ but his limbs didn't seem inclined to cooperate. He was having a hard enough time remembering how to breathe, panic and hysteria at war inside him. Shiro walked around him and Keith lolled his head, and made a weak attempt to bite at Shiro's ankles as he passed by.

He heard Zarkon laugh again. Fuck _that_. Keith tilted his head up and glared, watched as Shiro stood in front of Zarkon's throne and received ... something. It was a small bottle, and he wasn't certain if it was the starlight glittering off it but it seemed like it was glowing, faintly. He rocked a little in place and thought about rolling onto his belly again, to try to get his legs under him when Shiro looked over at him, and it seemed like his eyes were glowing the same hue as the bottle.

Keith froze, as Shiro crouched beside his head, and brushed his hand through Keith's hair possessively. "I can make it not hurt," he said softly, his head tilted down, creating the illusion of privacy between them. "But you must _behave._ "

His fingers tightened in Keith's hair, close to his scalp, and he pulled Keith's head up off the ground, so their eyes could meet. They weren't glowing, it was a trick of the light – but it wasn't quite _Shiro_ , in there. "Will you behave?" Shiro's voice was light, pleasant – the same clipped manner it would be when he was scolding Lance and Keith for bickering at the table. Keith swallowed hard and didn't look away.

Shiro sighed lightly but released his head, rising from his crouch to throw his leg over Keith's chest. Keith rolled onto his back, bewildered, as Shiro knelt over him – and this gave Keith an up-close view of Shiro's own stretched and abused hole. There was fluid still leaking from him, thick, tacky and almost a greenish hue. Keith swallowed hard, and his distraction meant he didn't realize what Shiro was up to until his hand closed tight around Keith's cock.

He hadn't really gotten _hard_ , yet; Keith realized, anger and fear had kept him from getting there. The closest he had come was watching Shiro fuck himself on Zarkon's dick, but the tight, warm heat of Shiro's hand closing around him made his stomach clench in a not unpleasant way. Keith bit his lip and closed his eyes tight, if he kept it together he could pretend this wasn't what it was, that it was just Shiro giving him a hand job back in the castle-ship; and that grasp at normalcy meant that when Shiro leaned in closer and his breath ghosted over the head of Keith's cock there was no denying how he squirmed.

Shiro's mouth was hot and wet and slick and Keith kept his eyes closed, his wrists locked together and hands curled into fists. It was almost impossible to keep his hips on the ground, though, and he squirmed, bucking into Shiro's mouth insistently. He was far too close when Shiro's mouth left him, and Keith's head hit the floor again as he panted hoarsely.

When he opened his eyes finally, Shiro was moving off him, shifting around so that he was arranged between Keith's splayed legs. Keith watched wordlessly, his wrists still locked together, as Shiro ran his right hand up and down his own cock. It was thick and red and Keith felt relieved to watch Shiro slick that ambered-colored liquid up and down its length. It would still hurt – probably – but maybe not as much.

This time, when the head of Shiro's cock pressed against him and pushed hard against that ring of muscle, it didn't quite feel like he was splitting open. If he'd had half his mind together he could have clocked Shiro in the face with his foot but something had happened, and he wasn't sure what it was; just that he needed Shiro to seat himself as deep as possible. It became a keening urge, difficult to ignore, even as Shiro worked himself slowly inside.

The pressure was intense. Keith was too full, and wasn't able to do anything about it but squirm, impaled on Shiro's cock. He was all the way in, as deep as he could get – and instead of thrusting in hard, Shiro slowly, _slowly_ , withdrew, until his cock popped free with a small sound.

"Disappointing," Zarkon's voice startled Keith, he had almost forgotten the observer. "Do better, or else I might intervene."

Keith twisted his head, to glower up at Zarkon but at this angle he couldn't see more than feet and legs. He was building up to something heavy and snarky but then both of Shiro's hands gripped his hips and every thought was forced out of his head by the single, violent thrust that sheathed Shiro completely inside. Keith's cock bobbed violently back against his belly, leaving a small spatter of semi-translucent liquid, and he choked.

"Better," Zarkon said, sounding placated. "Again."

It was a strange bit of agony, this repeating over and over, Shiro's thrusts changing angle but always sharp, pressing inside and opening Keith up more and more. Shiro moved in smoother and faster, after time, Keith's body no longer fighting his own. The lubricant was slick and warm and eased things considerably, to the point that Keith was making small keening noises on each vigorous thrust.

Then, suddenly, Shiro pressed in hard and deep and _pulsed_ , and Keith's legs tightened over his hips. He let out a low grunt, jaw clenched tight and the cords standing out in his neck – and Keith hung on as Shiro rode out his orgasm buried to the hilt inside him.

"Shiro," Keith said. He reached out for Shiro, both hands together, still fastened at the wrist by the magnetic restraints. Shiro shifted back, his eyes still closed, as if sensing the way Keith was trying to connect to him. He panted through an open mouth, then leaned forward, shifting his dick inside Keith. Keith shuddered; he felt the slick leaking from him but Shiro did not pull free. "God," Keith gasped, Shiro's hand on his knee, and then with a single wet motion Shiro's cock slid all the way out, leaving Keith on his back on the floor, legs splayed out and Shiro's seed dripping from his ass.

He hadn't even come, yet.

Trying to get to his feet wasn't going to happen right away, so Keith rolled onto his side, intent on at least getting into a seated position. He was almost there when Shiro's arm came out of nowhere, across his chest, and Keith thumped into it ineffectively. "What are you _doing_?" he complained, the idea of fighting Shiro off long since abandoned. Shiro hauled him roughly to his feet and manhandled him, wrapping his prosthetic arm around Keith's back and keeping his face pressed to Shiro's chest. Keith flushed, half with anger, half with the fact that his face was pressed into Shiro's _chest._ "Shiro, let me go!"

Shiro walked Keith backwards, until Keith's heel hit the edge of the dais and he realized how close they were again to Zarkon's throne. Keith's fight instinct reared its head, but he stood no chance against the strength behind Shiro's prosthetic arm. He squirmed as Shiro's flesh hand ran down his back and cupped his ass a moment, before his fingers dug into the meat of Keith's cheek and pulled, displaying his hole for Zarkon.

Keith gritted his teeth at the indignation, face pressed to Shiro's chest. He could feel Shiro's cum leaking, dripping down to his inner thighs now, but Shiro made no effort to wipe it away. In fact, he wasn't moving at all, as Keith heard the creak of armor and realized that it was _Zarkon_ moving.

He didn't really know what to expect, but the cold trace of an armored hand made him shudder. Zarkon's fingers were clad in a gauntlet, the tips fashioned to claws that traced over the thick muscle of Keith's rear and then, prodded at the bruised hole that still leaked fluid. Keith yelped as one of Zarkon's fingers pushed in roughly; just one of his fingers was nearly as large as Shiro's cock on its own, and unlike Shiro the metal was cold and impersonal.

"Still tight," Zarkon's voice was closer than it had ever been, and Keith shuddered, eyes closed. "Too tight. Fuck him again, Champion."

"Yes, Lord Zarkon," Shiro's voice said, soft and monotone.

It was rougher this time, on his elbows and knees, face pressed to his hands. Shiro's fingers had grazed the fresh burn on his chest and Keith inhaled sharply, the whimper of pain choked down and offset by the feeling of Shiro's cock buried inside him again. He'd added more of the lubrication, but even without it their bodies squished and squelched against each other, the seed still leaking from him churned into froth by Shiro's desperate rutting.

Things were starting to go fuzzy at the edges of his perception, but Keith was too in the moment to really concentrate on that, as overwhelmed as he was. Shiro's cock hit his insides at just the right angle and there was a surge and a break and he _shattered_ ; at least it felt like he did, his mind going to pieces and Shiro didn't stop, still fucking into him as Keith's cum splattered on the floor beneath.

He was still limp and pliant when Shiro slid his fingers into Keith's hair, twisting and yanking. Keith groaned and came again, far too soon and painful, the fluid less milky this time. Shiro pulled him up against his chest, legs splayed outside of Shiro's own, and then ran his hand down Keith's front, smearing the bits of his come that hadn't ended up in a small puddle on the floor. Keith was still a little far gone, but he realized distantly that the proof of his orgasm was being displayed, like a trophy.

Shiro didn't stop, however. He shifted Keith onto his lap, legs closed and out in front of him, his back to Shiro's chest. They kept at it, different positions and every so often Shiro would come, to the point that Keith didn't understand how he was able to carry on. He had always known Shiro to have great stamina, but this was verging on ridiculous.

The third or so time that Shiro gathered Keith in his arms Keith was near the point of passing out. He could no longer stand on his own, or bear his own weight, his inner thighs streaked with a frothy mix of Shiro's come and the slick, shiny amber lube. He lolled his head against Shiro's shoulder this time, eyes barely open. Even the sparks of pain from his branded skin weren't enough to keep him from fading in and out, and he didn't bat an eye at Zarkon's fingers inside him again, pressing deeper than Shiro could reach.

Keith panted shallowly into Shiro's shoulder as Zarkon withdrew his fingers. If he turned his head he could see the leader of the Galra Empire – their sworn enemy, their most hated foe – _licking_ _his fingers_ _clean_ from where they had just been inside Keith, moments before. Zarkon had been _inside_ him. Keith couldn't muster the strength to shudder.

Shiro brushed his hand through Keith's matted, dark hair, gently pulling through the tangles. It was a calming motion, and Keith felt the weight of his eyelids too much to bear.

"Much better," Zarkon's voice was still far too close, and Shiro's hands slipped down his sides, supporting his aching hips. "You have done well, Champion. It is time."

Keith felt Shiro shift a little, changing the way he was holding Keith against him. "Shiro," Keith murmured into his shoulder, softly, dreamily, the feeling of being in his arms even like this one of the most comforting things he could imagine. Abruptly, Shiro stopped moving, and Keith squinted his eyes open, dazzled once again by the view of open space behind Zarkon's throne.

"No," Shiro said, his voice strangled.

There was a long silence, stretched and heavy. Shiro took a small step back, Keith gathered in his arms now, his head still lolled against Shiro's shoulder. Zarkon was watching them both through narrow, slitted eyes.

"It will be worse, if you resist."

"I don't care." Shiro's voice was cracked through, exhausted and Keith stared up at him. He was staring at Zarkon defiantly, jaw set and for the first time since he'd slunk out from behind Zarkon's throne on a lead his eyes looked _right._ "I don't care what you do to me, I won't let you touch Keith again."

Keith inhaled sharply, channeling his strength, tapping into his reserves. They were going to _fight._ _Finally._ There was still a chance that they could get out of this. He was about to elbow Shiro in the side, demand to be put down, when Shiro let out a ragged, violent noise and dropped him.

He hit the ground hard, on his side and rolling straight onto the burn. Keith gasped, stunned, but it was Shiro who made the most noise, on his knees and both hands wrapped around the collar on his throat. It was more a sob than a scream, black tendrils of energy skating along the surface of the collar and up into the skin on either side. " _Stop it!"_ Keith yelled, looking to Zarkon on his throne, pressing a button in the armrest of the chair. "Stop it, you're _killing_ him!"

Zarkon lifted his finger off the button, looking directly at Keith. "On your feet," he said.

Shiro was down on all fours now, sweat dripping from his face, gasping for air. He didn't look at either Keith or Zarkon, but curled his fingers against the floor. " _Don't_ ," he said, before Zarkon pressed the button again and he went down, screaming.

Keith surged to his feet and almost tripped over them, his legs trembling like a newborn foal's. Almost immediately, the dark energy ceased from the collar, and Keith started to make for Shiro, when Zarkon said, simply, "stop."

Chest heaving, Keith stopped in his tracks. He stared at Shiro, lying on his side on the ground now; fingers still tucked into the edge of the plain-looking collar. Then he looked to Zarkon, who had raised his hand, beckoning Keith. "Come here, fledgling."

" _No_ ," Shiro's voice was completely raw, he couldn't lift his head. "Keith, no... don't...."

Keith squared his shoulders and didn't look at Shiro again. He walked on unsteady legs toward the dais on which Zarkon's throne sat. "Don't hurt him," he said. "I'll do whatever you want."

"Don't presume you have the luxury of demand," Zarkon said, leaning back a little and putting one hand in his lap. Keith's attention was drawn to that movement, and he shuddered as Zarkon slowly slid his hand up the ridges of that alien cock. "Service me with your mouth, paladin."

Keith glanced back over his shoulder. Shiro was still lying on his side, head down. He was panting shallowly, but he was still there, still with them. The he turned back to Zarkon and wordlessly raised his hands, the magnetic cuffs still engaged. After another lengthy silence, Zarkon pressed a different button, and the magnetic locks released, Keith's hands falling separate, to rest at his sides.

Zarkon's cock was enormous. It was secreting a viscous amber fluid, not just from the head, but along the ridges as well. Tentatively, Keith reached out a hand to touch it, and was surprised at how warm it was. It was harder than Shiro's cock, due to the ridges, but it was almost too warm. How had Shiro been able to stand it?

"With your _mouth_ ," Zarkon's voice was perturbed.

"It won't fit," Keith said, putting his other hand on Zarkon's cock as well, entranced despite himself with the sticky fluid. "In my mouth." It _was_ hot, and pulsing under his hands. Keith stroked down the ridges and felt Zarkon shudder.

Without warning, Zarkon's large hand shot out and closed around Keith's neck and shoulders, the sharp points of his clawed gauntlet digging into the muscle. Keith howled in pain, yanking his hands away from the alien member even as Zarkon leaned forward and lifted him into the air. Keith struggled and kicked, until he heard Shiro screaming from behind him, and he went limp almost instantly.

"You do not follow instructions well," Zarkon growled. "I grow tired of this game."

Keith's head was empty of everything except the danger of the situation and Shiro behind him, writhing in pain on the floor. " _Stop_ ," Keith cried, struggling slightly despite himself. "Stop it, I'll do it, just _stop_ -"

There was silence from behind them, then Shiro croaked his name. Keith closed his eyes and bowed his head, and felt the blood running down his back from where Zarkon's claws had punctured his flesh. "Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it," Keith said softly.

"Service me," Zarkon said again, and set him down. Keith winced and almost went to one knee, but kept his feet through sheer force of will. He reached tentatively toward Zarkon's enormous, pulsing cock again until Zarkon said, "not like that."

He swallowed, every cell in his body recoiling. It wouldn't fit, it _wouldn't_ , Shiro's barely fit inside and that had hurt like little else had before it. But he had to, if nothing else, for Shiro. Keith climbed carefully into Zarkon's lap.

Just pressing the head of Zarkon's cock against himself made Keith pause. It was _so big_. He was going to tear open and bleed. He swallowed and hesitated again; but then both of Zarkon's hands landed on his shoulders. He didn't curl the fingertips into Keith's already cut-up shoulders, but instead, pushed him down onto his cock.

The first two ridges went in so quickly Keith could only scream. He jerked violently and tried to yank himself off, but Zarkon's hands kept him on his cock. It was more full than Keith could ever remember being, his body barely able to stretch to accommodate, and he wheezed in pain, panting loudly. Keith barely had time to make the adjustment when Zarkon pushed him down again, and another ridge went in. Keith made a sharp sound of pain and jerked forward, which did not make things any better.

When he opened his eyes, panting hoarsely, he could see Shiro had lifted his head finally, and was watching. "Hang in there," Shiro groaned, and Keith squeezed his eyes shut, barely able to hear Shiro's strangled words over his own gasp of pain as Zarkon shoved him down the rest of the way. "Keith, hang _in_ there."

That was easy for Shiro to say, down there on the floor. Keith swallowed dryly. He felt Zarkon rumble in amusement, his hands leaving Keith's shoulders finally, his cock seated all the way inside. It was so large that when Keith glanced down finally, he could see the shape of it bulging from his belly, and he shuddered again, because he was so _full_.

Then, Zarkon's hand again, this time around his neck from behind, holding him still as slowly, agonizingly, he started to pull out. He could feel each ridge scraping free, the thick, sticky fluid it secreted making the process only marginally less painful. "Shiro," Keith croaked, Zarkon's fingers tightening around his neck, his windpipe. "Shiro, I-"

He didn't get to complete the thought. Zarkon slammed himself back inside with one violent thrust. Keith's eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp, as Zarkon continued to fuck him, spread open right there in front of Shiro.

 

* * *

 

"Are you sure those coordinates were correct?" Lance said, bayard blaster rifle in his hands as he stood with his back against the wall. The hallway was completely empty, both devoid of sentries and flying drones, even if it was still lit in dull purple.

Pidge's reply was static-filled, the interference that the Galra ship was giving off was making communications even more difficult than normal. "That's where the Princess said the lions were; if it's wrong, it's her fault."

"All right," he said, tilting his head to activate the HUD on his visor. "I'm going in. If I'm not back in twenty quintants, there's a Warvalian girlie mag under my mattress that's all yours."

"You're such a quiznacking pervert, Lance."

"Sorry, didn't copy that," Lance said, sliding away from the wall and stealing stealthily down the corridor. Pidge sat in the Green Lion, just out of sensor range and still cloaked to be on the safe side.

They had been searching for the missing lions for almost a week. Pidge had built sensor array after sensor array but nothing seemed to pick up the traces of the Black and Red lion's energy signature. Allura had spent nearly every waking moment on the bridge, trying to communicate with the missing lions, all to no avail.

Until today.

"It's quiet," Lance said, although he knew that the odds were good Pidge couldn't even hear him. "A little _too_ quiet."

As he spoke, two actual guards, not sentries, turned the corner. Lance flattened against the wall, behind one of the dividers. Neither guard even looked in his direction, continuing around the junction and disappearing. "That was close," Lance whispered, holding his blaster rifle to his chest. "A little _too_ close."

" _Lance._ "

"I thought you couldn't hear me!"

"I am trying desperately not to."

He rolled his eyes and continued down the corridor. To his surprise, it ended in large, ornate doors; unlike the bare, utilitarian ones that he had come through on the rest of the ship. Lance put his hand on the door. "Pidge, can you get me in?"

Static, this time. He rolled his eyes and looked for a Galran hand-plate; when he located it he held up his hand over the plate but not touching it. Lance pushed a button on the paladin armor, and a virtualized scan of Shiro's prosthetic hand overlaid his glove. Carefully, he put his hand on the reader, and held his breath.

After a moment, the scanner beeped, and the door swished open.

"Pidge, you're a genius," he said into the static, and his bayard rematerialized in his hand. With the blaster rifle secure, he ducked through the door, and into the darkness.

This was not a launch bay. It was a large room that was lit primarily by the same magenta running lights that the Galra seemed to favor. Lance slowly scanned the room, and jumped only a little when the doors slid closed behind him. "Weird," Lance said, as the panels on the far wall went slowly transparent, showing the starfield, and the curve of a planet beyond. "At least the view's nice."

The rustle behind him was the only warning Lance got. He turned on a dime and fired once into the dim room, and the blue light of the plasma beam lit his attacker a moment before he was on top of Lance. "Keith!" Lance yelled as Keith kneed him in the jaw, hard enough that almost went down. "Man," Lance complained as he leaped back, the distance helped by a blast from the rockets on the back of his suit. "You make it _real_ hard for me to want to rescue you."

Keith rose from a crouch, his eyes shadowed. Lance stared at him; he was wearing ... a muzzle? Something like that, over the lower part of his face. "Look, everyone loves a new fashion accessory," Lance continued, still holding his blaster on Keith. "But put on some pants, buddy."

Lance was so focused on Keith that he was caught completely off guard by the hand that grabbed his bayard-rifle. Lance yelped as it was yanked from his hands and thrown halfway across the room, and when Lance half-turned, flailing, Shiro backhanded him with his prosthetic hand.

The helmet took the brunt of the blow, but it still put Lance on the floor at the same time. "S-Shiro?" Lance said shakily, blood running from his mouth where he bit his lip. "Keith? What's, what's going on...?"

Shiro, too, was naked and wearing that strange muzzle that covered the lower portion of his face. They both wore collars. Lance looked between them, trying not to look below their faces and mostly failing miserably. "Guys..."

The doors he had entered through swished aside, and Lance half-turned desperately, only to see a large, ominous figure that filled its frame entirely. "Welcome, paladin of Voltron," Zarkon said, and the doors closed behind him.

 


End file.
